Ride
by TheHunter9
Summary: Summer's here and there's no room for rivalry, so the boys arrange a little wager to end the long-standing tension between Kenny and Craig. CRENNY. Stenny if you really, REALLY look. M for bad words and excited wieners and general SP naughtiness. My attempt to kick writer's block and assuage my SP addiction.


**I finally decided to fold to my overwhelming obsession with South Park. That, and I'm sick as shit and am trying to overcome writer's block. This is not, by any means, very original, but whattayagonnado? Crenny, kind of. There might be the tiniest sprinkle of Stenny if you squint really hard and put on your shipping goggles.**

**ALSO: Sorry to anyone who expected an author alert to be me back at my usual shtick, but I AM WORKING ON IT. This was my attempt to squash writers block like the dickish little fucking parasite it is.**

**ALSOALSO: Lana Del Rey is my idea of a Crenny soundtrack**

_Dying young and I'm playing hard  
That's the way my father made his life an art  
Drink all day and we talk 'til dark  
That's the way the road dogs do it – ride 'til dark._

To anyone outside of the South Park boys' exclusive little clique, the fact that Kenny's house was the most popular hangout in town was a total mystery.

Well, it wasn't Kenny's _house_ that drew all the boys together, per se – but the old shack just behind it, formerly used as a meth lab, with rotting slates and old tarps over the roof and enough room for an old one-seater sofa, a rug, and two old bean bags. And ten or so rowdy teenage boys.

It was cramped, damp and the smell left a lot to be desired, but God damn it, it was the best place in town according to those boys. You see, in a community as small as South Park and with parents as anal as the Broflofskis and vigilant as the Blacks, there was very little opportunity for typical teenage mayhem. Not if you didn't want everyone's asses hauled across the coals every other day of the week, that is. Having all known each other since kindergarten, each boy could be held just as accountable as the next, as it was assumed that they were all in it together. Ironically, this resulted in a solid _one for all and all for one_ kind of pact. The Wall of Silence, as Stan had dubbed it.

There wasn't another house in town that had parents like Kenny's – who cared just enough to make sure that none of them had tipped over dead by morning, but not enough to blow the whistle and send each of their guilty asses packing – and an older brother with connections in North Park that provided enough cheap beer and weed that all of the boys (except for Token, naturally) were going to be in rather dire need of some part-time jobs if this summer went the way they hoped.

And that was why Kenny McCormick was never surprised to find one or more classmates lurking in his back yard. Stan, Cartman, Clyde and Token were the most frequent visitors. Kyle, Tweek and Kevin appeared pretty regularly, too, but more for the hangout opportunities than the smoking, boozing and getting high. Butters only came when there was no joints to be passed around, ever-fearful of his parents smelling the herb on his clothes and grounding him. Kenny's little shack was also useful for anyone who wanted some time away from home or a place to bring a girl (Kenny was a firm believer in backing up any of his "bro's" in their conquests – few and far between though they might have been). It was pretty much public property by the time all the boys had reached sixteen, and Summer had rolled around once again.

"Fucking _finally_," Clyde enthused, revelling in the familiar _crack_ sound of a can of beer being opened. Ah, the sound of freedom. It might have been shitty beer – Stan's dad had the best stuff, but sneaking that away from him was a complete impossibility – but damn it, it did the job. Lounging back into the frumpy old sofa that he had commandeered, Cartman gave a triumphant "Amen to that."

They'd all finished for Summer earlier that day. Originally, there was supposed to have been a party, complete with _girls_. Unfortunately, Wendy and Bebe had rounded up the girls and proposed a night spent in a hotel in Denver. Apparently, there was meant to be spa shit and movies and food and the boys had given up on listening pretty fucking quickly after that. So, instead, all the boys had crammed themselves into Kenny's shack for a night of pot, beer and basking in the wonder of freedom.

"Fuckin' bitches," Cartman griped, complaining only for the sake of complaining. "What's the first night of Summer for if not the first in a long line of sweet ass?"

Reclining across the beanbags and rugs, the other boys grumbled quiet agreements. Except Butters (who had come along only because he was determined not to be left out of the celebration), who rubbed his knuckles together in an awkward reminder to everyone that he was still a virgin, and Kyle, who snorted from behind his can.

"Yeah, right. Like you've ever gotten any ass at all, fatty."

"AY! More ass than you'll ever get, ya ginger Jew-rat!"

"Jesus, guys, will you fucking quit it?" Stan complained, stabbing his knuckles into Kyle's ribcage to cut off his fevered retort. "We're supposed to be _celebrating_, not bitching like little girls!"

Kenny shook his shaggy blonde head, smiling a small smile as he sprawled with his back against the arm of Cartman's sofa. This was not a strange scene to him; his friends' bickering. In fact, it was the most everyday thing in the world. Still, it was kinda nice to see. It was one of the things he missed when he died and spent time languishing in Hell with only a grudging, reluctant Damien for company. It was also what really confirmed for him that he was back among the living – the mundane routine.

"Yeah, c'mon guys," Token said, his tone upbeat. "We've got the whole Summer ahead of us, we need to kick it off to a good start!"

"Here, here!" Clyde agreed, beginning the task of rolling the first joint. Clyde was fucking slow – but he had the steadiest hands and knew from endless smoking with Kenny where to place the buds for the most powerful hits. Kenny's expertise would come later, when they were all too buzzed to hold a conversation – let alone rolling papers and weed.

Cartman sunk back into the chair, sniffing resentfully. Then he sniffed again, wrinkling his nose. The place reeked of stale smoke and damp. Frankly, it was fuckin' gross. He shoved the heel of his hand into the back of Kenny's head, and the blonde narrowly avoided spilling his beer over his front. "Kinny, this place fuckin' stinks, dude. Why don't you ever clean it?"

Scowling and giving himself a precautionary wipe down, Kenny gave a shrug. "Not my problem."

"ACK!" Tweek exclaimed. "Why don't _you_ ever clean it, Cartman?"

"Yeah, you use it just as much as Kenny does," Kevin pointed out. Cartman glared across the space at the Asian boy, and Kevin was suddenly very glad that Token had pulled him down beside him and as far away from the burly boy as the walls of the shack would allow.

"Be_cause_, retards, this dingy little hole isn't on _my_ propertah!"

"Then why are you here?" Kyle retorted. "Why don't we use _your_ basement again, huh, Cartman?"

"Yeah, you know your mom won't care," Stan added. At the mention of Cartman's mom, snickers and wolf-whistles caused Cartman's face to flush red.

"Because you fuckin' fags won't stop staring at her bewbs!" Cartman snarled.

It was true. Every time the boys drank or smoked in Cartman's basement – before Kenny's parents had retired from the meth business for good and left their shack up for grabs – Liane Cartman had always been there, doling out snacks and making sure everyone was taken care of. Her boobs became more and more eye-catching the more intoxicated the boys got, and Liane had no problem with returning the boys' flirting with a giggle or a wink, to the complete outrage of her son. Kenny, in particular, was extremely amorous, forever trying to hug Liane and even going as far as tailing her to the kitchen to help her prepare the food. He and Cartman had come to blows about it more than once.

Now, Kenny held two fingers in front of his lips and let his tongue wiggle through the v-shaped gap. Laughter erupted in the shack and Cartman's anger flared to new heights.

"AY! FUCK YOU, KINNY, YOU POOR PIECE O' SHIT!"

Just as Kyle was replying with "Jesus, Cartman, try some new material," the shack's rickety wooden door swung open, and the last of the boys made his appearance.

"Cartman's screaming," Craig deadpanned, shrugging his backpack off his shoulder and tossing it into the corner with all the others. "So I assume you assholes haven't started without me."

"Hey, assface!" Clyde greeted his best friend cheerily, putting the finishing touches on a fat, perfectly-rolled joint.

"Nice of you to finally grace us with your company," Token teased, taking another swig of beer as Craig shuffled further into the cramped space. Clyde patted the space beside him in invitation.

"Yeah, well, unlike the rest of you fuckers, I actually have a job to keep up with," Craig responded, eyeing the space next to Clyde with a bout of trepidation.

"I have a – _ACK!_ – a job," Tweek protested indignantly. Tweek had been working longer than any of them, clearing tables and pouring coffee in his parents' shop before he'd even started middle school. Craig barely nodded in acknowledgement, eyes roving around the circle of boys, looking for somewhere, _anywhere _else to sit.

"Sit down, will ya, Craig?" Stan said, leaning forward and rubbing his hands together, eyes on the joint in Clyde's hand. "We wanna get started."

There was nowhere. Everyone was already crammed so close together that there wasn't anybody who wasn't touching someone else. Craig had no choice but to wedge himself in beside Clyde, shifting uncomfortably and hugging his knees to his chest, trying to avoid brushing off Kenny on his other side.

Craig did not like Kenny.

Kenny wasn't too fond of Craig.

It was just the way things were. Like with Kyle and Cartman, the other boys just accepted that the two did not get along and left them alone. Everyone, that is, except for Clyde.

Clyde and Craig were best friends. They always had been and, most likely, always would be. Craig was the only one to know that Clyde kept a locket with a picture of his mom in it in his nightstand, and Clyde was the only one who knew that the lack of female presence at their celebration didn't bother Craig in the slightest. However, Clyde was also good friends with Kenny. They traded porn magazines and were permanent wingmen. They had History, Psychology, Gym and Homeroom together and usually wound up in a panicked study-frenzy together, after both of them vowing that they _so_ didn't care about tests. Craig was a tobacco smoker rather than a weed enthusiast, and so it was Kenny Clyde went to whenever he felt like he needed a fix. The two of them would lounge on Kenny's bed, smoking and flipping through their porn, talking about the girls in their grade and howling with laughter over their similar perverted sense of humor.

Clyde believed that Craig and Kenny had more in common than either of them would ever admit. They liked the same kind of music. They both had an ear pierced. They both had a fondness for rodents. Both of them were fairly quiet, swore like sailors and they were in the same art class. Both of them were pretty decent artists, too. Or so it seemed to Clyde, who could barely draw stick figures.

Clyde had tried time and time again to spend time with both of them together. Kenny, though not enthused by any means, didn't seem too bothered by Craig's presence and just carried on whatever topic Clyde was ranting about as if Craig wasn't even there. But he was there, scowling at his shoes, resolutely silent until he was insulting Kenny, and Kenny was insulting him right back, and they both stormed off, leaving Clyde puzzled and sighing and muttering about fucking fags.

The only real contact Kenny and Craig had outside art class was when the two of them would slip out around the back of the school to smoke – separately. The Goth kids still hung out there with cigarettes of their own, and so it wasn't too awkward. None of them had any issue with silence. Craig had English Lit. with Michael and Pete and Math with Henrietta, and each of them had noticed Craig's defiant silences and his moody stare and the black hair that he refused to cut and decided that he was non-conformist enough to interact with. They also admired his skill on the violin, and more than once (twice, as a matter of fact) had asked Craig to play with them during one of their band practices. He went the first time, but declined the second, because Kenny had been there. The Goths hadn't asked again.

Kenny knew the Goth kids because his sister had collaborated on an art project with Firkle, and he'd been round to their house to work on it. Firkle had admired than ramshackle house and lack of conformist decoration. He had also – silently – appreciated Karen's older brother's insight into their art project. He might, perhaps, have even admired Kenny's artistic skills. He reported back to his friends with rare positivity, and that was when Pete revealed that he had music with Kenny, and that Kenny was one hell of a fine singer. This led to them asking Kenny to step in and provide a few vocals every now and then. Henrietta had a surprisingly nice voice, but the other three boys couldn't sing for shit, and so whenever they felt like they needed some male vocal presence, they had Pete hit up Kenny.

Kenny had seemed as conformist as they come – hanging with a jock and a genius and…whatever Eric Cartman qualified as…and getting into fuck up after fuck up and never learning a lesson. However, the Goths _did_ appreciate Kenny's voice, and Kenny had cheerfully gone along with whatever they wanted, enjoying his time around people with actual musical talent. He even went along with their version of a "makeover" whenever they performed together, allowing himself to be decked out in black from head to toe, with black nail polish on his fingernails and black hair chalk threaded through his usual sandy blonde. He even enjoyed it, brushing off his friends' comments and vowing to paint all their nails one night after they had fallen asleep. Every three weeks or so, Kenny would mosey on down to Michael's garage and harmonize with Henrietta. Even after they had gotten it all down perfect and decided that band practice "doesn't suck that hard," they still felt that something was missing. And so Kenny hadn't been too terribly surprised when, one day, he arrived at Michael's and found Craig there.

Craig, on the other hand, had felt as though the universe was dicking with him. "What are you doing here?" He'd snapped, harshly enough to surprise Kenny and prompt a round of blinking.

"I sing," he'd replied, taken back by the instant harsh treatment. Honestly, Kenny hadn't had a thing against Craig until Craig started acting like a dick. Still, he wasn't going to let Craig's sour presence ruin a perfectly good singing session. If the Goths wanted him to sing along to Craig's gay little violin, then so be it. Kenny wasn't one to sit around and bitch.

Craig had almost walked out there and then. The only thing that stopped him was Henrietta's shrewd glare and her demand for them to keep whatever gay lover's quarrel they had going on out of their musical space.

"I'm not gay for Craig," Kenny had scoffed, whipping his hair dramatically over his forehead. "I'm _way_ out of his league."

Kenny's smile told everyone he was joking, but Craig's teeth had still gritted together, heart pounding against his ribcage.

"Whatever, McCormick," Michael had dismissed him, demanding that they get down to business.

And they had.

Kenny had been pretty excited when Henrietta had emailed him the sheet music for the song they were going to be doing. He'd never heard of it, but the title made him laugh, and he felt that they had picked it deliberately to screw with him. Craig had regarded the same sheet music with a raised brow, but both had practiced separately and had _In This Moment_'s "Whore" down perfectly.

The song Craig had listened to on YouTube had not impressed him. It wasn't his type of sound. He could appreciate that the twisted poetry of it appealed to the Goths, but the female singer's raw, breathy vocals hadn't done much for him. Kenny, however, took a whole 'nother spin on it.

It was lucky for Craig that he had already begun playing before Kenny joined in, because as soon as Kenny began to croon the familiar lyrics, Craig's hand twitched in surprise, and he was certain that he wouldn't have been able to start otherwise.

Kenny's voice really was something else. Craig stared at him as he sang, dumbfounded. He remembered that Kenny had had training when he was younger, but he hadn't expected that to _stand_ to him.

(And that wasn't the only thing _standing_, by any means.)

When he sang, his voice was a little higher, a little sweeter than when he spoke, but with a husky edge to it all that still rendered it masculine. Craig tried to squander the awe, brushing it off as surprise, but as he listened his heart started to speed up and his cheeks pinkened considerably. Furious with himself, Craig continued to play, his eyes unintentionally glued to Kenny. His classmate really _went_ with it too; swaying, gesturing with his hands to help himself hold the notes, eyes shut until they _weren't_. Craig wasn't sure if that was intentional or not, but it unsettled the fuck out of him and made the situation in his pants that little bit more pronounced. When his eyes parted again, they were fucking _bedroom eyes_, complete with the haze and the smoulder. It was like watching a train wreck – he couldn't look away in spite of the twisting in his stomach. Even when the song was over and Craig was able to drop his violin down over his instrument, Kenny still had a strange kind of ambiance about him. His face was flushed. His hair was unrulier than ever from the motions of Kenny's head, falling almost into his eyes. He scooped it out of his face with a grin that almost looked abashed.

"Well?" He'd asked as he turned back to the other members of the band, eager for approval. He thought he'd done well.

Craig had never hated him more.

Kenny was met with Michael's frown as he lay his drumsticks aside. "You're too sweet, McCormick," he'd replied. "That's not how the song is sung."

Craig felt a dart of mean joy twang through his torso at Kenny's crestfallen expression. But, sure enough, Kenny had had a comment.

"I was just trying not to _conform_ to the original," he'd retorted, an edge of pride to his voice. "Isn't that the whole point?"

The Goths had struggled to reply. Craig held his violin down in front of himself, silent.

"There's not conforming, and there's just plain gay," Pete snapped, folding his arms across his chest and tossing his hair. "Work on that."

Firkle, who still had a smidge of respect for Kenny, stayed quiet. To Craig's sudden alarm, he realized that Henrietta was staring at him, her gaze invasive. Craig had hurriedly turned away from her, just in time to catch Kenny's expression sinking further. He lifted one hand and scratched the back of his head, unsettling his already unsettled hair. "Alright," he said, his tone quieter than before. "Er, I gotta bounce anyway. I have to pick my sister up from her friend's house."

"We didn't ask for your effin' life story," Michael scoffed.

"I'll send you new sheets sometime next week," Henrietta had added.

"Kay," Kenny replied, turning on his heel with an awkward wave and disappearing out the door. He hadn't so much as glanced at Craig. There was barely five second's silence before Henrietta spoke again.

"Is everything okay, Tucker?" She's asked. She knew, and Craig knew she knew, but there was nothing he could do but try and keep his expression firm.

"Of course," he replied coolly, meeting Henrietta's stare as steadily as he could. It had been hard when she looked so fucking smug.

Craig dealt with his seating arrangements as even-temperedly as he could, more for his own benefit than anyone else's. This was his night to celebrate too, damn it, and he was going to have a good time whether the Welfare Whore was two centimetres or two miles away from him.

"Light it up, then," he demanded eagerly, backed up by the rest of the boys.

"Alright, alright, cool your tits, Tuck-man," Clyde replied, nudging the joint between his lips. Much to Craig's chagrin, Kenny had leaned across him to get to Clyde, tossing a zippo lighter into his lap with an enthusiastic "here, here!"

"Good man, Ken," Clyde mumbled, grinning around the joint.

Craig was trying to fight a scowl when Stan shook his head. "Jesus, Kenny. You have _everything_ in those fucking pockets."

Chuckling, Kenny leaned towards Stan and offered him a seductive wink. "Including a special surprise for _you_, babe."

If it were anyone else making flirty remarks, it would have been awkward. But this was typical Kenny behaviour, and so everyone just laughed. Stan even winked back and told him to save it for later. Kenny's head tipped back and he laughed so heartily that he didn't even notice that Clyde had successfully lit the joint.

Cartman whacked Kenny over the head, narrowly missing Craig, whose temper only further soured. "Stop being a fag, Kinny!" Cartman yelled. Kenny's next move – after the grumbling, of course – didn't really surprise Craig. Kenny turned around with a sultry smirk and snuggled into the bigger boy's leg.

"Don't be jealous, kitten-whiskers," he purred. "There's a surprise for you too, if you want it."

Everyone laughed again, even Clyde, who nearly choked himself on the thick smoke. Cartman kicked wildly, trying to dislodge his laughing friend. This was unfortunate for Craig, who was close enough to be clipped a few times by Cartman's fervent freak-out. Cartman's shriek of "_ew, Kinny, gross! I don't want your poor AIDS!"_ sent everyone into near hysterics. He snatched up the joint next, taking a long drag and shuddering over-dramatically. Then he went to take another.

"Stop hogging it all, you greedy asshole. Pass it to Craig," Stan said. Muttering profanities, Cartman did as he was told. Craig felt a rush of relief from the second the hot drug touched his fingers. As soon as he put it to his lips and took a drag…

_Sweet fucking nirvana…_

Craig inhaled deeply, savouring the hot, cloudy feeling in his chest. He had just begun to exhale through his nose when a warm manacle shackled itself around his wrist and yanked his joint-holding hand away. Craig would most certainly have dropped it had another set of lips not latched onto it just in time. Kenny, grinning tight-lipped around the joint, was clutching Craig's wrist and taking his drag while it was still, technically, in Craig's hand.

Craig choked up the rest of his smoke in shock.

Kenny just kept grinning, inhaling nice and deep until his lungs were full. He was just finished when Craig yanked his arm back, snatching the joint away with so much force that it almost went flying. Craig managed to pinch it between his fingers, glowering so forcefully that Kenny's playful smirk actually twitched downwards.

"Jesus Christ, _careful_!" Stan – whose turn was next – yelled.

"Yeah, we only have so much of the stuff," Token added, eyeing the joint worriedly.

Craig ignored them both, thrusting his hand out for Stan to claim his turn. Stan removed the dwindling joint from Craig's stiff hand, watching the fact that Craig never took his furious eyes off Kenny. Kenny returned the stare in kind, smile gone.

"You little fucking prick," Craig growled.

The circle fell silent. Even Cartman kept his mouth shut, gleaming eyes dancing between the pair, waiting to see who's make the first move.

"Aw, jeez, fellas," Butters said, eyeing the standoff nervously. "We're having a nice time. Don't fight."

A fight was certainly possible. Craig and Kenny had come to blows a few times in the past – they'd all traded punches at some point or another – and right now Craig looked ready to pop Kenny in the mouth. That might have been okay – a tussle between any of them ended as quickly as it began – but Kenny's older brother Kevin was home tonight. Kevin was nineteen, a mechanic-in-training, and had already been banged up for assault more than once. If Kevin heard Kenny yelling, he'd come to check it out. Kevin may not have been the smartest guy who ever walked, but anyone and everyone knew that he was not to be fucked with. Craig could find himself spending his first night of summer vacation in the ER.

However, Kenny only exhaled, allowing the smoke he'd been holding in to waft around himself and Craig. He blinked with a demure, self-assured look, then turned to Butters with a reassuring smile.

"Who's fighting?"

Everyone relaxed. Clyde, eyeing up Craig's tight jaw, tossed a can of beer his way. It rolled against Craig's leg and broke his concentration, as Clyde had hoped. More beer began to make its way around the circle. They all knew by now that pot and booze were not a smart combination – and almost never worth the aftermath – but right now they all felt the need for some pretty rapid intoxication.

Kyle passed up the joint. So did Butters and Kevin Stoley. Token took his hit, followed by an anxious, twitching Tweek, and by the time it returned to Clyde, the tense atmosphere had shifted back to normal.

Craig felt himself calm under the first wave of the pot. Why should he get worked up over Kenny's stupid little games? This was so typical of him, Craig could have snorted. Kenny was forever doing stuff like this – trying to get a rise out of him and getting a rise out of him without even trying. Craig didn't even really know _why_ Kenny bugged him so much. They'd gotten on fine in elementary school. They'd even been friends of sorts. But it seemed that the older Kenny got, the more and more people he was able to wind around his little finger. And Craig had no idea how.

Kenny was a good-looking guy, Craig had to admit. He'd grown out of his parka and been convinced by Kyle not to save for a new one. Instead, Stan had given him an old denim jacket of his, and Kenny never took the fucking thing off. By now it had holes in the elbows and was more a faded grey than blue, but Kenny was rarely seen in anything else. It boded well for him that Stan had always had a slightly broader frame, because Kenny was able to grow into the jacket without also growing out of it. Kenny was slender thanks to the slim pickings his house had to offer, but sometimes Stan managed to haul Kenny to the gym when he was training for football. Kenny didn't really work out – he went because Kyle had shuddered in horror at the thought and asking Cartman was just retarded and he wanted to keep Stan company. He was able to lift some of the smaller weights and Stan had him going pretty well on the treadmill. But that was the extent of it. Still, it firmed him up and kept him from being considered scrawny. His hair was another thing that Craig decided made him attractive. It wasn't particularly _soft_ – he didn't wash it nearly often enough for that – but it was thick and shaggy and his sister trimmed it to just the right length to be long without being girly. Then there was those fucking bedroom eyes – fucking _hell_ how Craig hated those. Blue. Of course. Kenny was just your standard-issue fucking Ken Doll.

But it wasn't just his looks that had people falling at his feet – _oh_ no. Kenny knew how to flirt while still just being friendly and kind without being a gaywad. Of course, he could be a dick too, but people were usually too distracted by his charm to notice. It really, _really_ fucked Craig off. The entire fucking town seemed to have a blind spot when it came to McCormick. Even the girls he'd fucked – as many as there were – were still on good terms with him because he treated them like friends. He didn't hurt their feelings. Craig hated him so fucking much. He hated how Kenny could strike up a conversation with anyone. He hated how Kenny could win just about anyone over – even the Goth kids, who should have hated him. Kenny wasn't even that outgoing. A lot of the time he let his louder friends do the talking. His grades varied from just okay to fairly shit. He ditched school a lot, charmed girls out of their pants and was still so poor after all these years that he mooched off his friends as often as they'd let him. But, still, people loved Kenny.

Craig hated him so much that he had a bitter taste in his mouth just from looking at him.

The first joint burned out, then the next, then the next. The boys were still swigging beer by the time Cartman took that last drag, their heads cloudy and bodies lazy.

"Fuckin' hell, guys," Clyde repeated for the fourth time. "_All summer_."

"I know, dude. We're gonna do so much shit," Kenny replied happily. He was leaning against Stan on the other side of him, head resting on his shoulder. Kenny's hand had reached above his own head and was absent-mindedly fiddling with Stan's hair. None of the other boys seemed to notice, and Stan was acting as if this was totally regular. Through the fuzz in his mind, Craig wondered if everyone acted that gay and got away with it or whether it was just Kenny and his paranoia was justified. He figured it was. Kenny got away with everything.

"Fucking hell, Craig."

Craig turned his eyes up to Cartman with a bleary-eyed glare. "What?"

"If you keep staring at Kinny like that, your dick's gonna burst right outta your pants."

Clyde snorted so hard that he tipped backwards, landing on his elbows as he laughed. Craig felt his face heat up as Cartman cackled. Everyone else gave low, lazy chuckles as well. Craig didn't need to look at Kenny again to know that he was grinning wildly.

"I knew you wanted my hot bod," the predictable voice rang out above the rest. It made Craig's teeth hurt.

"Hot bod my fucking ass," Craig growled.

Kenny laughed again. "Sounds like you're offering to bottom there, Craigy!"

Clyde's extra-loud bark of laughter set the rest of them off again. Craig felt his teeth bare in agitation. His hateful glare darted between Kenny, who was practically lounging in Stan's lap, laughing his ass off, and Clyde, who apparently didn't know that the price of such blatant betrayal was a Doc Marten boot to the balls.

In spite of the mellowing effects of the drug, Craig's temper bubbled over.

"Oh, shut the fuck up, McCormick!" He yelled, jabbing a shaking finger in Kenny's direction. Kenny was startled out of his laughing fit, falling silent as Craig spat furiously at him. "We're not all fucking faggots like you!"

The shack fell silent again. Kenny's face was stony. Nobody really knew what to say. Stan was frozen behind Kenny, wondering if he'd be fast enough in his drugged-up state to retrain him if he decided to launch himself at Craig. Kenny was a quick bastard.

There was a fine line between dicking around and calling each other fags and saying it and actually meaning it. For the second time that night, Craig and Kenny were in standoff mode.

Craig only took his eyes off Kenny to glance at Clyde. He almost expected his best friend to break the tension by reminding everyone about Kenny's extensive porn collection. But he didn't. Clyde was looking back at Craig, with an expression that was so disappointed and judgemental that it was too adult for his face. Craig had to look away. When he glanced back at Kenny, Kenny was staring at him evenly. His face was tight and contemplative, and he rolled his tongue around his teeth.

"Well, I am _sorry_ that you're not as secure in your sexuality as I am," he said finally.

Craig's teeth tightened. "I'm plenty secure."

Kenny gave a soundless chuckle so out of character that Craig's anger faltered for a second. "Sure you are."

"_I am_."

"Whatever you say, Tucker. All I know is that _I've_ got nothing to hide."

"Neither do I," Craig retorted automatically.

"Oh _Jesus_, will you two just make out already so we can go about our lives?" Cartman drawled. "Seriouslah, all this gay tension is getting old."

"Fuck you, Cartman," Craig snapped.

Kyle snorted. "Of course you'd like to see that, fatass."

"Fuck you, Jew!"

"Jesus," Kenny chuckled mirthlessly, rolling his eyes. "Why don't _you two_ make out instead?"

"There isn't enough money in the world," Kyle said grimly.

"A-fucking-men," Cartman confirmed. But his eyes were glittering now. "But now I've got myself a _little idea_…"

"Uh oooh…" Butters murmured.

"I'll pay you each-" Cartman delved into his pocket and whipped out his wallet, drawing out a pair of bills. "-Ten dollahs, to make out right now."

"No," Craig said immediately. "No way."

"Hold on," Clyde said suddenly. Craig turned to his supposed _best friend_ in complete disbelief as Clyde whipped some more bills and a few coins out of his own pocket. "I'll throw in another sixteen. That makes…uh…"

"Twenty six dollars each," Kyle supplied.

Clyde nodded and turned back to Craig, another too-grown-up look on his face. "Right. Twenty six dollars. You guys make out right now, then act civil to each other from now on."

Before Craig could close his gaping jaw and reply, Token decided to throw in his two cents – or, rather, his fifty dollars. "Fuck yeah, I'm in for that."

"That makes fifty one dollars each," Kyle calculated.

"Fuckin' rich black bastard," Cartman muttered.

"Fuck you, lard-ass!"

"GAH! Sixty one," Tweek added. The boys began to toss their coins and notes into the centre of their circle. Craig couldn't even speak. What the fuck was happening? Was this a fucking joke? His eyes darted nervously towards Kenny, who was watching the growing pile of money intently.

"Butters!" Cartman demanded, causing the small blonde to jump. "How much money have you got?"

"F-Five dollars," Butters replied. "Bu-but I need it to buy milk in the morning or else my parents'll ground me!"

"This is more important than your dairy needs, Butters," Cartman said flatly. Butters glanced between Kenny and Craig – both stunned silent by the sudden turn of events – and sighed.

"Oh, a-alright," he relented, dropping his note into the pile.

"Sixty six dollars each," Kyle said. Then he paused, rummaging into his pocket. "Or, make that eighty one."

"Fuck it," Stan said, shifting his ambushed blonde friend off of him so he too could delve into his pockets. "A hundred dollars each."

"A hundred dollars, you guys," Cartman repeated. "All you have to do is make out."

"And be civil to each other from now on," Clyde added.

"Yeah, right, whatever."

The two boys in the spotlight hesitated. Craig kept his eyes on the money, avoiding Kenny's face. Kenny himself watched Craig, eyes darting over his ashen face.

"C'mon Kinny," Cartman taunted him. "You know you can't pass up a hundred bucks straight into your back pocket…!"

Kenny locked eyes with Clyde, who was staring at him knowingly. Clyde was the only person who knew that this was a bigger problem for Kenny then he was letting on. Kenny hadn't wanted to tell anyone, but Clyde had happened across one other kind of magazine while smoking with Kenny and the blonde hadn't been able to lie his way out of it. Clyde had told him that he'd kinda figured it out anyway – what with the way that Kenny treated everyone so equally. Kenny had sworn him to secrecy anyway. He couldn't imagine how badly the likes of Cartman would rip on him if he found out. That wouldn't have been the worst of it, though. Craig would have had a fucking field day.

Kenny locked his jaw.

No fucking way was Tucker gonna stand between him and a hundred bucks.

"I'll do it," he announced determinedly.

Clyde whooped, throwing a fist into the air.

Craig's eyes widened. Kenny, in spite of everything, felt a small flicker of guilt. Still, he knew that Craig needed the money too. His job only paid so much, and a lot of his wages went on cigarettes and lunch at school. He wasn't on the greatest of terms with his parents any more, Kenny knew. He didn't know why. All he knew was that sometimes, during the night, he'd hear his crappy gate creak and he'd look out his window and spot Tucker sneaking across his grass in the dark, slipping into the shack to spend the night. Kenny never told Craig that he'd spotted him. Craig never let on that he knew Kenny knew. Kenny never even mentioned it to Stan or Kyle or even Clyde, who was closer to Craig than anyone. He figured it was none of his business.

Kenny studied Craig now, taking advantage of his eyes being fixed to the floor. Craig was a damn good-looking guy. His skin was flawless and his hair was shiny as fuck. He had these lidded grey eyes that were halfway between _I just don't give a shit_ and _come fuck me_. His shoulders were almost as broad as Stan's and Kenny knew from Craig's infrequent appearances at Stan's gym that he had that v-shape between his hips that girls busted a nut over.

Kenny might've had a problem.

But it was no problem that a hundred bucks couldn't solve.

"Alright, alright!" Token exclaimed. "Get to it, then!"

"No less than three minutes," Cartman added warningly. "Or you get nothing."

Craig was looking rather sick. One glance at his glazed eyes and greasy skin and Kenny bit his lip.

"Tucker's not going to," he announced.

"Well, well," Cartman grinned meanly. "I guess someone's not as _secure_ in their _straight-ness_ as they claimed!"

Craig glanced up into Cartman's smug, smiling face. There was a roaring in his ears and his stomach was churning. Suddenly, he felt angry again. Angry at Cartman for being such a manipulative dick. He didn't want to see them make out, he was counting on Craig falling through so he could have some ammo for his next dickwad routine. Craig was also angry at himself for putting himself in the whole situation. But, most of all, he was angry at McCormick for…for just _everything_.

Craig stared at Kenny through slitted eyes as the blonde began to backtrack.

"But, uh, I _was_ going to, so can I at least get half the mo- _unf!"_

"GAH!" Tweek exclaimed. "Is- is this really happening?!"

"Dude," Kyle stated.

Craig had grabbed Kenny by the front of his denim jacket and crushed their lips together.

Initially, the kiss was tight-lipped and awkward as Kenny tried to overcome his shock. He gripped the front of Craig's hoodie just to hold on to something stable and tried to wrap his head around the fact that he was kissing a dude.

To make an awkward moment just a smidge less awkward, Clyde wolf-whistled. This broke the tension and surprise that had settled over the group at Craig's sudden assault, and several more hoots and cat-calls sounded as Stan and Kyle began to laugh good-naturedly and Kenny became determined to take back control.

Craig was not surprised when Kenny's warm tongue began to trace patterns against his lower lip – after all, Kenny _was_ a notorious slut and this _was_ supposed to be a full-fledged make-out session – but he was surprised at how nice it felt. Kenny knew what he was doing. Craig fucking hated that.

Holding on to the anger he was feeling, Craig allowed the hand that wasn't securing Kenny against him to snake up into his hair. His fucking. Perfect. Annoying. Blonde. Hair. Craig's surprisingly steady fingers slid through the soft warmth, got a decent grip and tugged. Hard. Trying to hurt him and also trying to prove that Kenny was the gay one and not him. He got the reaction he wanted. Kenny gasped and his mouth fell open, giving Craig the opportunity to dip his tongue inside. Kenny fucking hated that.

_I'm not gonna be the fucking girl in this_, Kenny thought firmly. Trying to force himself to think of Craig as a girl – a boobless girl who was firm and bigger than him and most definitely dominating this kiss – Kenny released Craig's hoodie and instead began to hold him by the waist. He felt Craig's back tense, but he still didn't relinquish any control of the kiss. He also tried to ignore the fact that he really fucking liked how Craig was pulling on his hair.

In an attempt to shock Craig into submission, Kenny dragged their hips together until the fronts of their jeans were touching.

It worked.

Craig froze, giving Kenny the opportunity to battle his tongue into submission. Suddenly, Craig really couldn't care less.

"Whoa-ho-ho!" Kevin exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "It's getting hawt in here!"

The jolt of sensation that had sparked through Craig's pelvis as the sudden touch was stirring something in Craig – a rather contradictory feeling. Craig was worried about not being worried, because he was high as fuck and it had felt fucking good and he wanted to fucking do it again. As Kenny's tongue ran over his teeth, Craig subtly pressed their hips together again. A fainter echo of the same sensation caused him to press himself closer to Kenny.

Kenny had made out with a lot – a fucking _lot_ \- of girls. Any time he'd thought about making out with guys, he hadn't expected it to be much different. But it was. It was completely fucking different, and Kenny found that unsettlingly exciting. He liked that Craig was strong enough to keep his head in place just from gripping onto his hair. He liked how aggressively Craig was going for it, with no concern for the fact that Kenny might have been in pain or anything like that. He _really_ liked how Craig pushed back against his hips, subsequently rubbing something of his against something of Kenny's.

They parted long enough to gasp for air, hips still glued together. Craig didn't know if their time was up or not, but one glance at Kenny's fucking hooded, smouldering bedroom eyes and Craig was gripping onto Kenny's jaw, smashing their lips back together once again.

The cheering around them increased in volume. The second round of their make-out was even more intense than the first. This time, rather than just kneeling rigidly together, they _moved_ – brushing noses as they changed up the angle of their kissing, bending backs as they struggled for control, pulling on clothes as they tried to direct each other – all the while rubbing their hips together and managing to make it look consequential.

As Craig grinded into the front of him, Kenny decided to give him a taste of his own medicine and knotted both hands into Craig's hair. On one particularly un-subtle thrust, Kenny yanked hard on Craig's hair.

"_Ack_!" Craig gasped, breaking the kiss again. He felt heat rising in his cheeks as his cock twitched in his pants, growing that bit harder, and Kenny decided to go for broke.

Craig's edge on height was not in his favour now, as Kenny was able to fit himself just-so, landing a few sloppy kisses to Craig's chin and jaw before lunging for his neck. Craig found himself powerless to stop him.

Head buzzing, body humming, dick throbbing, Kenny was in a world of his own. He rubbed his erection against Craig's and marvelled at the fact that he could feel the beginnings of fresh stubble as his lips and teeth and tongue teased the flesh of Craig's neck.

Craig was gonna have one hell of a hickey in the morning.

Craig realized that his hand was still in Kenny's hair only when he noticed that he'd been threading his fingers through it, petting Kenny like a cat. This woke Craig up a little. He heard the howls and cheers of his friends and felt the bulge of Kenny's erection pressed against the bulge of his. It felt _really fucking great_, especially in combination with Kenny's treatment of his neck. Craig found himself pressing Kenny's head further into his skin. Then Kenny chuckled.

The fucker was laughing. He thought he was _winning._

_Not likely_.

Gritting his teeth, Craig yanked on Kenny's hair, dislodging him with a yelp of pain. He continued pulling, bowing Kenny's neck back, parting his lips. Smirking at the change in roles and the way Kenny was gasping and how now Craig's extra height was going to help him, Craig leaned down and dipped his tongue between Kenny's lips. There's nothing Kenny can do besides try and tug just as hard on Craig's hair and swear ferociously in his mind.

He didn't really want to move though.

He'd never felt another boy's erection before, yet there it was, rubbing against his own erection through two pairs of jeans. Exciting.

Too fucking exciting.

It probably wasn't wise of Craig to let his thoughts wander – not surrounded by this many people, not in this position, not when he could feel Kenny fucking McCormick's dick lined up against his, both throbbing, already so excited. But his thoughts did wander and Craig found himself imagining how much better it would feel if they were naked.

A twang of pleasure unfurled in his stomach and he gave a quiet groan into Kenny's mouth. He could feel that his underwear was wet and sticky with precum – and then he imagined that Kenny's were too and the situation in his pants got a whole lot worse.

Kenny felt like he was about to cum. In his pants. In front of all his friends. Pressed up against Craig Tucker, to top it all off. Kenny also felt like it was really fucking hot. The good feeling built and built and suddenly Kenny was in genuine danger of needing to change his clothes.

And he didn't care.

Craig was fucked. He was really, really fucked. Here he was, grinding against Kenny McCormick while they pulled on each other's hair and clothes and Craig wanted nothing more than to grip onto Kenny's hips and _ugh, oh no-_

"Time. TIME! Jesus, you pair of fags, it been nearly ten minutes!"

Cartman yanked them apart so suddenly that neither of them had time to catch themselves. Craig collapsed against Clyde, who somehow managed to keep them both upright. Kenny wasn't so fortunate. He rolled backwards until his head landed in Stan's lap. Stan grinned down at his frazzled friend, chuckling.

"Fuck, dude, you okay?"

Everyone watched Kenny and Craig as they struggled to right themselves, both disappointed and hugely relieved that their orgasms were fading back. They were both blushing and refused to look at each other, each fiercely thankful that they were in a room full of dudes that understood that boners were gonna pop up whether they were welcome or not.

Dizzy, embarrassed and panting, Kenny mumbled quite miserably; "I'd like my hundred dollars rather immediately…"

Kenny risked a glance over at Clyde, who was grinning like a motherfucker the whole time. Kenny couldn't even frown.

Cartman snorted. "Well," he said curtly, ignoring Craig's half-hearted glare. "If anything was gonna prove that neither of you were butt pirates…that _was not it_."

**Yep.**

**Metinks Clyde was playing matchmaker, that little fucking smiler.**

**Just to clear up any confusion:**

**Craig = gay &amp; in denial**

**Kenny = bi-curious and not too pleased about it but still willing to go for it because…well, it's Kenny**

**Clyde = knowledgeable**

**Cartman = manipulative**

**Me = a raging Crenny fangirl**

**Stan (in my head) = straight but attracted to Kenny because I'm also a Stenny shipper and not having Stenny subtext just won't do**


End file.
